XXIVLESSONS IN DIPLOMACY
Inthe excitement of the great disaster no one had inquired for Deborah, except Glaucon, who received from the cautious Huldah evasive replies regarding her illness. The day following the battle her brother insisted upon seeing her, since it might be necessary to make sudden flight in the event of the Maccabæans attacking the city.
Deborah came from her chamber, walking with difficulty. One would have said that she had received a hurt or a wound from a fall. She, however, spoke slightingly of the pain in the sinews which sometimes came to her, an inherited disorder; at least she had heard that her mother was at times similarly attacked; but a few days' rest always cured her. She now listened with surprise to the story that a great battle had taken place, and upbraided Glaucon and Huldah and Ephraim for not telling her of it. She questioned every new-comer with the eagerness of fright. Each fresh outcry in the street seemed to deepen the blanch of her cheeks, so that even Glaucon, though his face was pale and his lips trembled, rebuked her timidity, and swore great heathen oaths, such as befitted so valiant a protector.
"What shall we do if the rebels really take the city?" she asked.
"We will flee to Antioch."
"But the Jews hold all the country to the north, do they not?"
"If the worst comes we can take ship at Gaza. I have got as much gold as my belt will hold, and our asses are ready to start at daybreak, if the news then warrants our flight. But who comes?"
Through the uproar in the street were heard cries of the name of Dion. The curtains moved, and the young Captain stood at the opening.
Glaucon's welcome was enthusiastic. He embraced his friend, and kissed him upon both cheeks. The Greek did not return the salutation. He seemed dazed, and stared steadily over Glaucon's shoulder. Had he indeed gone daft? After gazing at a sunset one is apt to see golden spots resembling the orb wherever one looks at the sky. Had Deborah wrought a similar illusion on his imagination? He had seen her in his dreams, both waking and sleeping; among the women of the Greek camp at the Wady; and only yesterday in peasant garb amid the dying on Bethhoron—yet she was here in her home! He was beginning to question his own mental condition. His hand came to his head as if to certify that it was still upon his shoulders. Deborah quickly proved that this time at least she was no sprite out of the foam of fancy. With a suppressed cry of surprise and gladness she sprang to meet him. He would have been less than a man if he had not extended both hands to embrace her. To her glorious womanhood was added the frank joyousness of a child. Her face caught the flash of her soul, and was illumined by it.
This was, however, but for the instant. The next moment she drew back. Her face flushed, then became of marble pallor. Dignity, hauteur, offence, almost scorn were written upon her brow and lips. It was as if a bursting rose-bush were suddenly encased in wintry ice.
Deborah realized that the surprise of Dion's coming had thrown her off her guard. Had she not solemnly determined, that night at the Wady, that henceforth they two could have nothing in common? This had been a conviction of her judgment and of her sense of duty. That hour when she had used a woman's wiles to accomplish a higher purpose she had classed among her other practices of deceit as a spy. She had scorned herself for it. Now that her debt for his risking life in her behalf had been fully paid—paid off by her risking her loyalty to her country to save him—she had accustomed herself to think of him only as an enemy; a Greek, either hating the Jews and therefore persecuting them, or else a mere soldier of fortune, indifferent to all right and truth, as unfeeling as the point of his sword. In the one case he was a man whom she, as a Jewess, must treat as a foe; in the other case, he was a man of such character that she, as a woman, must despise him. She had resolved that if ever they did meet—and she prayed God that they might not—it should be with such frigid courtesy on her part that former relations could not be resumed. She had thought, too, that she could readily play this part. Had she not schooled herself to absolute self-control? Who could see through any mask she pleased to wear? Not the shrewdest of the Greek generals in whose tents she had been; not the suspicious eyes of these women in Jerusalem. She had prided herself that, whatever feeling might linger in her heart,her personality was buried within her patriot purpose.
Yet just now her impulse on seeing this man had been as uncontrolled as that of a child. What had she done? She said: "I have betrayed myself." Then she asked a deeper question on this line than she had ever asked before: "How could I betray myself? Am I not my own very self? Is there, then, some deeper self with which I am not fully acquainted? And is it true that that deeper, stranger self, having never been consulted, has never consented to the judgment I had formed regarding Dion?"
She began to feel, what the Princess believed, that there is a mysterious sense of kinship between certain souls which asserts itself in spite of conditions, which heeds no warning of judgment, and refuses submission to other passions. If it were not so, why had Dion's sudden coming made her do that which no other surprise could have led her to do—make her forget herself?
But in a moment more she had recovered her self-possession. She bowed Dion to a seat as coldly as any stranger might have done, and bade him tell the story of the battle.
Captain Dion addressed himself solely to Glaucon, for each glance at Deborah seemed to interrupt his memory of events. Once and again he stopped midway a sentence as he looked at her, until Glaucon recalled him by repeating his last words.
At length, fixing his eyes steadily upon her face, he said:
"We were defeated because we had on our side no—prophetess—to inspire us to more than human valor."
But Deborah was now on her guard. That play on Dion's part belonged to diplomacy, not sentiment, and she rewarded his ruse by not so much as a quivering eyelash or the shadow of a changing hue.
"Do the armies take prophetesses to their battlefields?" she asked.
"The Greeks do not," replied Dion. "Such holy women as we have remain at home and consult the entrails and stars. But it was reported that the Jews were accompanied by some of theirs. I overheard one say, 'The prophetess, the Daughter of Jerusalem, is with us.'"
His eyes searched hers, but could discover no sign that she understood his deeper meaning.
The diplomatic play between Dion and Deborah was like the sword play of two expert fencers whose blades cling together. Glaucon unwittingly relieved the tension by inquiring:
"As a soldier, do you advise my leaving the city, Captain Dion?"
"I as a soldier, or you as a soldier? Which do you mean?" laughed the Captain.
"I am not a soldier," said Glaucon. "My position of influence is too great for me to take such risks."
"If you were a soldier," said Dion, "I would advise you to make your house a castle, and die behind your parapets. But no, I think that one with so many other interests had better take refuge in the citadel or at Antioch. The fact is, our forces have been utterly overthrown. The Jews are in pursuit through the plain. Judas, I think, camped in our camps at Lydda last night. But he will return; and if he strikes us here we have not sufficient soldiers toguard the entire walls. We can hold no more than the citadel."
"Then I will gather up all I can, and to-morrow have it removed to the Tower of David," replied the frightened man.
"I commend your discretion," said the soldier, as Glaucon, summoning his steward, left the apartment.